


Oh, my Pride!

by ryukoishida



Series: Attack the Crowd [3]
Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cheerleader AU, First Kiss, Gen, M/M, because why not, drunk kids playing super smash bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 22:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8178331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: After the regional qualifiers, the all men’s cheerleading squad from Pars University decides they need to take a much-needed break before they start tackling the nationals. Gieve’s idea of a good time is, of course, a party that involves video games and alcohol.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andthenabanana (bananaandthena)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananaandthena/gifts).



> Written for andthenabanana as her super belated birthday gift XD Please read the first installation or you might be confused. Also, did y’all know that Kishward’s seiyuu, Yasumoto Hiroki, also voiced rival squad’s captain Doumoto Jin from “Cheer Danshi!!”? It’s true, and it’s glorious.

Ten minutes into this so-called “celebratory party”, and Daryun is already regretting his decision. He’s currently inside Gieve’s apartment is stuck with a group of rowdy university students, who are half-intoxicated by victory and half way to being actually drunk through alcohol consumption.

 

This is possibly one of the few questionable life choices Daryun has made in his twenty-seven years of life, his mind having been swayed by the adrenaline still thrumming in his bloodstream from their success during the regionals that day.

 

In between minor injuries, conflicting schedules, and clashing opinions, the all men’s cheerleading club of Pars University had somehow pulled off their routine with minimal mistakes, which gained them a passing score that allowed them to enter the national championship in three months’ time.  

 

Some of the club alumni came to watch the competition as well, which the squad didn’t expect, but after the brief introduction and upon seeing their past captain, a man with jet-black hair shorn in an undercut style and lively forest-green eyes by the name of Kishward, Gieve and Isfan seemed to feel more at ease and confident.

 

“I see you’ve done an excellent job making sure Gieve carry out his duty as the team’s captain,” Kishward patted the brunet on his shoulder with a proud grin, and Isfan lowered his head humbly, mumbling a thanks, his cheeks tinted in a pleased blush.

 

“No fair, Kishward! Isfan’s just doing what he’s supposed to as vice-captain, so how come only he gets praised and I don’t?” Gieve actually had the audacity to pout.

 

“You did well, too, kid,” Kishward laughed, warm and hearty, “although I had to admit, I was surprised when I first heard that you, of all people, had decided to undertake the captain’s role so willingly. You were all about having fun and hated taking on more responsibilities than strictly necessary during your first year. I was genuinely worried for the future of the team.”

 

“Or what was left of it, anyway,” Gieve reminded him.

 

Kishward knew of the dire situation the squad faced after many of the members had quitted for various personal reasons and their own coach abandoning what was left of the broken fragments of the team, yet when he offered his help to recruit new people and a new coach through his network of acquaintances, Gieve had adamantly refused.

 

He looked up to the upperclassman as a skillful cheerleader and respected him as the squad’s captain, and he was grateful for Kishward’s kind offer, but Gieve knew that, in order to rebuild the team from ground-up and to exceed their previous achievements, he’d need to do this on his own.

 

So when Isfan decided to stay with him – with the team – Gieve was relieved to realize that he was not alone in this.

 

Kishward quickly glanced over the fresh faces of the new squad with a nod. “But now I can see that I’ve obviously underestimated your abilities, Gieve. I’m looking forward to seeing what this new team is capable of.”

 

The energy of Kishward’s encouraging words spread through to the rest of the team members like a wild fire that burned bright and merry, the hope of getting through to the nationals having rekindled from embers of uncertainty and self-doubt.

 

When they stepped onto the floor with the spotlight shining upon them, they felt unstoppable.  

 

Returning to the stands where some of the team’s family members were watching and cheering them on, Isfan was shocked to find his brother there, grinning proudly as the squad approached them drenched in sweat and high spirits.

 

“Brother!” Isfan rushed over to his sibling with bright eyes, arms wide open as he enveloped his older brother – dark-haired, topaz-eyed, and almost a head shorter than Isfan – in a tight embrace that almost toppled both of them over the bleachers, “What are you doing here? I thought you have work today.”

 

“I can take a day off to see my kid brother, can’t I?” He ruffled Isfan’s hair affectionately, and though the younger man wrinkled his nose, he didn’t make a serious effort to move away.

 

“So, Shapur, what do you think of our performance today?”

 

Shapur stepped away from his brother, his grin vanishing as soon as he heard the familiar voice.

 

“Gieve…” Isfan wrapped his fingers loosely around his teammate’s upper arm, his quiet voice bearing a hint of warning.

 

“It’s okay, Isfan, I’m not trying to pick a fight – I just wanted the valuable opinion of the team’s past ace,” Gieve pulls away from his friend’s grasp and walked up to the slightly taller Shapur.

 

When he’s not smiling, Shapur’s typical facial expression is not unlike his younger brother’s: cold, gleaming eyes and a firm line pulling his lips to make his stature seemed even more inapproachable, his frame exuding a dark, imposing aura.

 

That, however, had never stopped Gieve from running his mouth in the most inappropriate of times, and not even Isfan’s cautionary glare was capable of preventing an oncoming storm.

 

The rest of the team members, who had been chatting amongst themselves, steadily fell quiet as they watched the scene unfold with bated breath. The team captain they all came to know was usually an easy-going, albeit overly flirtatious and irritatingly optimistic, chatterbox, so to see him challenging a former squad member head-to-head with no regards to seniority was a bit of a shock.   

 

“It’s a strong and dynamic routine, and this team has a lot of great potential,” Shapur admitted, then his tone lowered to a sterner note, “but I think even you should know that, at your current level, that’s not going to be enough to get you placed in the top five in the nationals.”

 

“We don’t plan on remaining at our current level,” Gieve’s grin widened, and there’s a wild, animalistic glint in his eyes that bordered on hunger – for success, for victory. “It’s true that most of our members are still green compared to other teams, but they are exceptional men, and I have absolute faith in them that we’ll not only be able to surpass today’s performance, but to go beyond the result we’d achieved last year.”

 

It looked as if Shapur was about to say something more, but Kishward stepped in before the storm could escalate, one arm wrapping around Shapur’s shoulders in a friendly half-hug, and said, “We’ll be sure to come watch you guys in the nationals, so make sure to train hard!”  

 

Gieve and Shapur’s exchange left a lingering sense of restlessness among the team for a short while, but when Gieve suggested that they should celebrate today’s achievement, all the members agreed wholeheartedly, their spirits lifted up once more by their captain’s contagious smile.   

 

Fast forward to two hours later, Gieve is setting down a few bags of family-sized chips onto the coffee table, taking care not to knock over the glasses and bottles of drinks already littered there.

 

The group of people gathered on the floor before the television are too busy playing a vicious game of Super Smash Bros, in which Isfan – to other members’ surprise – is slaying everyone else easily with his Jigglypuff.

 

Being the most inexperienced video gamers of the bunch, Merlane and Tus, who are playing as Greninja and Ike respectively, are the first ones to be defeated. But the red-haired man remains calmly seated in his spot and attempts to learn more useful techniques from his teammates through observation, while Tus appears to be simply enjoying being immersed in the atmosphere with his friends.

 

After his Lucario fails to recover from Jigglypuff’s Rest attack and is blasted off the stage, Jimsa shouts something in his mother-tongue that nobody can understand, but everyone just assumes it’s a terrible curse word. Zaravant, whose Little Mac suffered the same fate only minutes ago, pats the foreign student’s back in consolation, and they clink their glasses of beer together to drink away their sorrowful defeat. The only other player left standing is Narsus, who has been strategically evading other people’s attacks with Robin, but is now forced to fight Isfan in a one-on-one battle.  

 

“You’ve got to always watch out for the quiet ones,” Gieve warns the group with a laugh, which earns him a BBQ-flavoured chip thrown in his general direction courtesy of Isfan, who’s still somehow concentrating on the game at hand.

 

Gieve leaves the group as they are, even if they are a little too boisterous. Around his dining table, where more junk food and some semblance of a healthier choice in the form of a fruit platter can be found, Elam, Arslan, and Jaswant are sitting and just chatting quietly amongst themselves.

 

After ensuring that the two underage members in their squad are not sneaking alcohol into their own glasses, with Elam sending him an incredulous glare as if he can’t believe Gieve would ever suspect them of doing so, Gieve slinks away, taking note that Arslan and Elam are sitting rather close to each other and that, despite not partaking any alcoholic drinks, both young men’s cheeks are quite rosy as they laugh softly when one of them seems to have said something funny.

 

If Gieve still has strength remaining, he’d probably try to physically drag Jaswant away as subtly as he can so that Arslan and Elam can have some alone time together, but as it is, maybe signaling him will suffice.

 

Jaswant looks confused for a moment as he tries to decipher Gieve’s flurrying hand motions, but once he’s finally caught on to the captain’s intention, he excuses himself from the table with a small apology to his younger teammates and makes his way to the washroom located down the hallway.

 

Even as Jaswant rolls his eyes, he still gives the captain a high-five when he walks by.  

 

Satisfied by the good deed he’s certain he’d just done, Gieve perches on the only available comfortable seat in his apartment, an old, creaky armchair slotted by the corner of the living-room, a little away from the video game crowd.  

 

The exhaustion from the day’s exertion finally catches up to him when he reclines into the lush cushion, and with the warmth and sweetness of the alcohol swimming pleasantly in his bloodstreams, he feels his eyelids drooping heavily and his limps relaxing despite the noise surrounding him.

 

“If you’re not careful, someone might take advantage of you in your drunken state.”

 

Warm fingers gently brush violet locks away from his closed eyes before Gieve senses the man settling down on the ground with his back pressed against his legs.

 

His lips curve into a small smile when he speaks, “You’re too much of a gentleman to commit such a heinous crime, Daryun.”

 

“You don’t know me well enough to know that,” he murmurs.

 

“Do, too.”

 

Daryun breathes out a laugh, the sound soft and smoky and crawling onto Gieve’s skin like a living thing.

 

He may be more than half way to being drunk, Daryun figures, but with Jaswant and Elam watching over his young master, he feels like he can finally relax into the party atmosphere; the anxiety and worry that has been gripping him in the beginning have dissipated with each sip he takes, and when sips turn to glasses, everything his gaze rests on appears to be more dazzling.

 

“If getting you more than half way drunk is the only way to get you to loosen up, we might need to organize drinking parties more often,” Gieve chuckles.

 

Apparently, another sign of him being inebriated is that his brain-to-mouth filter has all but disappeared and rendered useless.

 

Daryun is about to retort with something snarky, but the words come and leave like a whirlwind and his mind can only focus on Gieve’s bony knees digging uncomfortably into the base of his neck and fingers softly sifting through his hair.

 

The sensation is strangely pleasant, and he releases a small, pleased sigh through his parted lips, his back sagging against Gieve’s legs even more than before. Daryun will never admit so to the flamboyant cheerleader because Gieve will make sure to never let him live it down.

 

“You’re the touchy-feely type of drunk, aren’t you?” There’s a hint of teasing in his voice, but Daryun ignores it all the same, finding it too tiring to counter the comment when Gieve is mostly right.

 

Instead, he lifts his hand and searches for Gieve’s until he secures the other man’s wrist in his grasp. “You’ve got a problem with that?”

 

“Not… not really,” Gieve hesitates for a moment, frowning in slight confusion as he stares at the much larger and much tanner hand that is Daryun’s holding tightly onto his. He remembers the first time they touch, the trace of danger and threat and heat that lingers on his skin long after Daryun had released him all those months ago, and he’d been wondering what that was all about. “Um. Daryun, are you aware of what you’re doing?”

 

“Obviously,” Daryun snorts impatiently.  

 

“O-Okay, just making sure,” Gieve tries to pull his hand back – doesn’t try very hard at all because it’s nice: his hand on Gieve’s, the warmth, the vigour, the unspoken want.

 

Without a word of warning, and with strength that should not be logically plausible for a drunken man, Daryun pulls him forward so that Gieve is now sitting upright, almost lolling forward, and he has to spread his legs wider to steady himself on the armchair. Daryun’s back hits the cushioned seat with a solid thud, and he looks up in wonder, golden eyes too bright under the blue-white of fluorescent lights, only to find that Gieve’s face is only mere inches away from his own, their breathing hot and ragged and saccharine with something fruity and alcoholic on the tips of their tongues.

 

“Daryun…?” The name comes out like a question, a request: unsure, afraid.

 

“I’ve told you, haven’t I?” Daryun releases his hand and lets his fingers wind into Gieve’s disheveled locks, cradling the back of his head. “You don’t know me well enough to know that I won’t do this…”

 

Gieve rests his trembling fingers – whether from nerves or excitement or possibly both – under the hollow of Daryun’s jaw, a thumb delicately tracing the shape of his jawline.

 

“Then, will you?” he whispers, so soft that Daryun almost misses it.

 

“What?”

 

“Will you let me get to know you better?” he clarifies, and his intention has never been clearer. “That is, without the help of alcohol, if at all possible.”

 

A laugh bubbles out from Daryun, amusement colouring the gold and black of his irises, and it’s tendrils of white clouds in a summer sky, tender and soft and good. He doesn’t answer Gieve’s question immediately, words too unwieldy and they tangle like ivy in his tongue, so he chooses to pull Gieve closer until their lips touch in a kiss.

 

The position is less than ideal – Daryun can feel the strain in his neck as he cranes back to reach and Gieve’s lower back is humming with a sweet ache – but they are kissing and it’s a little sloppy, but they swallow each other’s giggles and keep going, pushing and pulling like waves washing lazily up the shore, like how they will inevitably fall back into their usual cycle of bickering and reconciling once they’re sober.

 

Broken glassware violently tears them apart, and they look up at the source of their interruption.

 

The crowd by the television makes no sign of acknowledging the situation, so Jaswant tries to brush it off as casually as he can.

 

“Sorry. Just. Carry on. Please. I’ll, um, clean that up right away.”

 

He’s indicating the broken pieces of glass and a puddle of coke and rum running along the cracks on the hardwood floor.

 

“It’s fine, Jaswant,” Gieve huffs out a chuckle as he runs a hand through his hair as if he hasn’t just been caught drunkenly making out with a fellow teammate and crush. “I can deal with it. Can you grab some paper towels from the kitchen for me?”

 

“Yeah, of course.”

 

Jaswant speed-walks in the opposite direction of the kitchen so fast that Gieve is afraid he’s going to run into a wall from the way he’s not really looking at where he’s going.

 

“Did he just ––?”

 

“Yeah, he saw us.”

 

They are both somehow impeccably calm.

 

“Well, fuck.” Despite the curse, Daryun doesn’t sound particularly bothered. Gieve has to wonder why.

 

“Nicely articulated,” Gieve says, pecking Daryun lightly on the temple before he drags himself out of the armchair in search of some paper towels. He’s not certain whether Jaswant will come back any time soon.

 

“Daryun, are you all right? Do you feel sick?”

 

“Y-young master Arslan!”

 

“Why are you sitting on the floor all by yourself? I thought you were with Gieve.” A worried frown is etched on his brows as he stoops down.

 

“He, uh…” At the mention of their captain’s name, the same captain whom Daryun has been kissing rather enthusiastically with, he snaps his mouth shut.

 

“Did something happen between the two of you?”

 

Daryun wants to deny it – it’s in his instinct after all – but he finds that that’s not what he wishes to do at all. And he can never lie to Arslan.

 

“I suppose you can say that.”

 

“Something good, I hope?” Arslan ventures with a small, hesitant smile, testing the waters. He doesn’t like to delve too deeply into other people’s affairs out of politeness, but Daryun is part of his family and if there’s anything Arslan can do to help him, he’d not hesitate to do so.

 

Daryun doesn’t reply for a brief moment, gears in his head turning as he remembers how his heart has been fluttering when their lips first touched, how pleasant it has felt to be touched by someone so tenderly, and he thinks he’s figured it out.

 

“You know. I think it might be – something good, I mean.”

 

Listening in to their entire conversation from the shadows in the hallway, Gieve breathes out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Arslan can half-guessed what happened. Narsus loses his match to Isfan but totally knows what’s going on. Later, Gieve will talk nonstop to Isfan about how amazing Daryun is, and Isfan will complain about it and asks his friend to please stop with the unnecessary details of their kiss but he’ll be really happy for them at the same time.


End file.
